A Time for Everything
by DarthSensei
Summary: Ex Death Eater Malfoy and Mudblood Granger fall in love, then Hermione is murdered. Draco will do anything to get her back, but what will he do when his time traveling spell goes awry and lands him in the middle of 6th year? Chaos ensues! R&R PLZ!
1. Just Dropping In

_**Prologue: Just Dropping In**_

It was early Saturday and Hermione had spent hours the previous evening convincing Ginny that Saturday mornings were made for studying. Her methods of persuasion had been brutal and unrelenting—they involved the perusal of many of Ginny's less than adequate assignments that had been covered in red ink and given remarkably low scores. After only fifteen minutes of this, the boys had left, unable to bear the embarrassment, take part in it, or even enjoy it.

"_Alright_, Hermione," Ginny had finally sighed upon the display of a particularly sore grade. "But you know that wasn't my fault. Ron—"

"Yes, yes," Hermione interrupted. "There are many excuses for substandard scores, but did blaming your brother work for McGonagall?" Ginny shook her head. "OWLs are not as far away as they seem," Hermione said chidingly. "We must be prepared." Hermione stacked Ginny's papers and tucked them back into her bag. "First thing tomorrow morning, we will go to the library."

"First thing?" Ginny asked, suddenly ready to argue again. "First thing being around noon, right?"

Hermione laughed. "I'll wake you up at eight sharp," she said. "We should probably get to bed now, early day and all."

Ginny looked around the common room and felt a pang of disappointment. Everyone else was chatting and playing games. It couldn't have been later than eight thirty or nine.

"Bollocks," she muttered to herself and then headed off to bed.

Looking back on it, Ginny wished she had fought a little harder for the noon study session, but she knew Hermione and there was no arguing with her when she had something stuck in her head.

"You look tired," Hermione observed with a sideways glance. "I hope you weren't up too late."

Ginny shrugged. "It's hard to sleep when everyone else is having a blast without you," she replied. "Besides, my inner clock is set to a more… night owlish sort of schedule."

Hermione _did_ feel bad that she had pushed Ginny so hard, but she refused to let it bother her too much. It really was the best thing for them both. Studying would only help them when OWLs finally rolled around.

As they walked, a comfortable silence fell over them that neither felt particularly bound to break. It was during these moments of silence that Hermione and Ginny didn't feel the need to argue—either playfully or not so playfully. There certainly were things to be discussed, but now wasn't the time.

"I—"

"So—"

They both began the sentence at once and looked at one another in surprise. Bursting out laughing, they clutched their books to their chests as they continued walking.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and a large shapeless mass fell from the ceiling, eliciting screams from both Hermione and Ginny. It hit the floor with a thump and a grunt of pain and Hermione realized, in a moment of sheer horror, that it was a person that had just appeared out of thin air. Too frightened to run away, Ginny and Hermione merely stared as the person began to move, groaning as they lifted their head. Hermione gasped. It was Draco Malfoy—looking a great deal older and more grave than usual.

Beating Hermione to the point, Ginny dropped her books and pulled out her wand. "What in the hell are you playing at, Malfoy?"

But his eyes were fixed on Hermione. His expression was one of disbelief, fear, and… something else Hermione couldn't, or refused to interpret. "Hermione?" He whispered, the word rolling off his tongue like he had said it twelve times a day for the last six years.

"Draco Malfoy, the astute observer as always," Ginny snarled.

"Who else would it be?" Hermione asked. Looking up at the ceiling and then back down at him, Hermione added, "where in Merlin's name did you come from?"

Draco pulled himself up, using whatever he could for support. He looked pale, thin and positively dirty. "I can't believe it worked…"

Hermione digested his words and slowly reached for her own wand. "How did you get here, Malfoy?" She asked, her voice dangerously low. "It's impossible to _apparate_ on school grounds…"

"Appa… I didn't _apparate_," he said slowly. He seemed so focused on what she was saying that he couldn't understand her. Draco took a step towards Hermione, a severe limp announcing itself as he nearly stumbled.

"I think you're delirious, Malfoy. Your head must have broken your fall," she said in a warning tone. "You should go to the infirmary before you force me to curse you."

"Curse me… I don't care," he murmured and she believed him. Draco suddenly reached out. He gently took hold of an unruly strand of brown hair and moved it away from her face. Hermione was frozen—unable to speak or move. "You're aliv—"

"This is getting too weird for me," Ginny said to her companion, cutting Draco off mid-sentence. "I think we should go."

Hermione nodded, suddenly realizing herself. She stepped away, her cheeks burning in embarrassment and anger. They both put their wands away, Ginny picked up her books, and they practically ran in the opposite direction.

"Hermione…" Draco whispered after her, the longing he felt almost intense enough to tear him open.

AN: This is the first fanfiction that I have spent considerable time working on in a while, so I'm a bit rusty. The premise is an old one of mine, but it is revamped and I plan on updating frequently. As you will have noticed, it is AU. Sixth year hasn't happened yet and considering the entire story is based on a time paradox situation, you won't be seeing events from the Half Blood Prince. Thanks for reading and please, review!


	2. Draco's Feat of Love

**_Chapter One: Draco's Feat of Love_**

Draco tapped his pen nervously against the dull and damaged surface of his personal desk. Glancing to his right, he read the clock on the wall with great dread. 6:47. Dumbledore was late—Dumbledore was never late. Standing swiftly, Draco gathered his things without care—tipping over picture frames and a half-full mug of coffee.

"You heading out Malfoy?" A coworker asked and Draco nodded. "You don't look so good."

"I don't feel so good. Tell Marie I headed out early, would you?" Draco asked, surprised at how normal his voice sounded. It was almost alien. On the inside, Draco was screaming. "You idiot!" He shouted at himself once he was in the safety of his own car. The station wagon's engine revved to life and Draco went from zero to fifty in less than ten seconds. The snow was falling so quickly and in such volume that Draco could barely see, but he only pressed his foot down on the gas harder. "You shouldn't have left her!"

It was 7:02 when Draco pulled onto Primrose Lane—the street that he and Hermione had called home for the last year. At the very end of the street to the right stood a two story, buttercup yellow house with navy blue trim and dark gray curtains. Draco drove over the curb and onto their pristinely groomed lawn—barely coming to a full stop before he threw himself out of the vehicle. He bolted up the porch stairs and into the house. The second he saw that the front door was open, he knew. He was too late.

He halted, his heart thudding to a stop in his chest the moment full realization hit. She was dead. The light in the living room had been broken, but the fan was still going. Draco moved slowly, praying to God that the person who had just destroyed his world was still there—the rage he felt was boiling over, suppressing the grief. That would come later, he knew. Turning into the kitchen, he saw the back door was thrown open and snow was still gently and silently piling up. It was then that Draco knew the person that had attacked their home was long gone... As he stepped further into the darkened room, he saw a motionless shadow on the floor.

"Hermione," he breathed. The shadow was still. He dropped to his knees and crawled to her. Even in the dark he could see the blood and the bruises that had been left on her olive skin from the struggle. Her chestnut hair was splayed in all directions, matted with blood in some places. He reached out and placed a hand on her protruding stomach. No movement. No life. Draco felt the first of many tears spill as he looked at her. Her eyes were white, glazed over in a way that left no doubt as to how she had been killed. _Avada Kadavra…_

. . .

It was a cold December afternoon and even though the sun was glaring down at the large assembly, the temperature remained far below the yearly average.

Draco felt nothing but numbing cold as he watched the dark mahogany coffin slowly lower into the ground. He was aware of music playing, but he couldn't tell what song it was, nor did he really care. Everyone kept their distance from the pale, blonde, former-death eater, and for good reason. He had sent more than one person to the hospital since the night his beloved wife had been murdered.

A warm tear streaked his face and Draco quickly swiped it away. After the things he had seen, Draco found crying almost difficult… But this pain was so different than anything he had ever felt before. It was like a wildfire—out of control and all consuming.

The coffin finally settled at the bottom of the grave and Draco suddenly felt the permanence of it. He would never see her face again, or feel the warmth of her body next to his… He would never get to hold their child. He choked back a sob at the thought of the innocent, unborn life that had been taken. _His _baby… Draco's knees buckled and several people rushed to help him. He waved them away with angry shouts and all but two heeded his request.

"Up you go, Draco," came the familiar voice of the boy who lived. Draco opened his eyes to see an open hand patiently waiting in front of his face. He took hold and Harry Potter pulled him to his feet.

"Do you want a chair, Draco?" Asked his red-headed companion and Draco shook his head.

"I'm fine, thanks," he muttered hoarsely.

"It was a beautiful service… Hermione would have loved it." The youngest Weasley's voice was so gentle and calming that Draco could only nod and look away. Ginny Weasley was four months pregnant with her and Harry's third child and Draco couldn't bear to look at her. If she noticed, Ginny was too much the polite witch to reproach him. Seconds later, the silence was broken by the shouts of one of the new Weasley twins.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy!" A little girl with red hair pulled back into pigtails came running at full speed and wrapped her arms around Ginny's legs. "There are ghosts here!"

"Of course there are, Lily, we're in a cemetery." The girl's eyes opened wide.

"Can they hurt me?" She asked and Ginny laughed. "Arthur said—"

"Don't you listen to a word your brother says. He's only trying to frighten you." Draco saw Ginny place her hand lightly on top of the young girl's head in an attempt to soothe her. It seemed to work, because the girl backed away and began looking around. "Mommy and daddy are in the middle of talking to other grownups, Lily, so why don't you run off and find your brother? You two can play hide and seek." Lily nodded unconcernedly and sprinted off.

Ginny cleared her throat and gave Harry a rough nudge with her elbow when she thought Draco wasn't looking. Harry shrugged and she sighed loudly. "Harry and I have been talking, Draco, and we don't think it's the best idea for you to stay at home by yourself right now…"

"I'll be fine," Draco snapped. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I understand," Harry said, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. Harry avoided Ginny's narrowed eyes as he said, "Just don't forget to bother us every once in a while. Ginny will worry."

"Sure," Draco replied emptily.

"We should probably head out now," Ginny said regretfully. "Arthur and Lily need their nap and I need mine." Without thinking, she rested her hand meaningfully on her barely oversized belly.

Draco felt a pang of unimaginable pain. He didn't respond and eventually, the two drifted away into the crowd of dispersing people. Draco heard many polite goodbyes and offers to walk with him back to their—his beaten up station wagon, but he couldn't find a single word to respond with. He wasn't trying to be rude, but he had little attention to spare from the ten by four foot grave that held the only family he had.

It didn't take long before Draco was alone at the graveside. He let out the breath he had been holding and allowed the pain he felt to overtake him. He slowly lowered himself onto his knees by the edge of the grave. He then spread his body out and laid flat on his stomach, allowing his arm to drape over the edge.

"It's been such a long day, my love," he said, the right side of his face pressed against the loose dirt and grass. "It would have been so much easier had you been here." When there was no reply, Draco began to shake. "Please, Hermione… Talk to me. Let me hear your voice." Met with only silence, Draco could no longer hold back his sobs. The next twenty minutes blurred together and by the time he couldn't cry anymore, Draco's chest was so sore it was hard to breathe.

Suddenly Draco felt skin brush lightly against his fingertips. He immediately withdrew his arm from the grave and scrambled to his knees. He peered over the edge in anticipation—fully ready to see Hermione's shade… _something…_ but the grave was still empty except for her coffin.

"Where are you?" He asked.

"She's moved on, Draco." Draco scrambled to his feet, turning, and drew his wand, the words of a thousand different spells on the tip of his tongue. When he saw the intruder, he felt relief, but didn't lower his wand.

"No," Draco spat.

"Yes," the shade repeated. "She is gone."

"She wouldn't," Draco said, taking deep breaths, trying to contain his anger. "She couldn't." He felt tears brim his eyes again and it made him angrier than ever. "What about me?"

"You should feel happiness for her—rejoice that she is not held here against her will as something less than human."

"Like you, Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Draco, like me."

"It's your fault she's dead," Draco snarled.

"You may lay the blame at my feet if it will give you comfort, but I know you are not a fool," Dumbledore's shade murmured.

"If you had done what you were supposed to, they would not have found her and she would still be here," Draco replied coldly.

"You cannot blame me for dying, Draco."

Draco wanted to scream. Dumbledore was like a God to the wizarding community… How could a God fail? How could a God die? "You blame you," Draco said through gritted teeth. "That's why you're still here." Draco closed his eyes tightly and his wand fell to his side. "I should have been there."

"Then we would have buried two great wizards today," Dumbledore's shade said calmly.

"Better to be dead and buried than… this," Draco said. "Everything that I had in this world is in that grave."

"You are very young, Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore lamented.

"All I need is a second chance," Draco whimpered.

"I'm afraid there are no second chances."

"There has to be something I can do—a reanimation elixir, a necromancer's spell?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly, a new look of concern on his old, wizened face. "Those are dark magics, Mr. Malfoy, and the results may be far from what you imagine."

"I need to go home," Draco said suddenly. He cast one more glance down into the depths of her grave and murmured a last farewell and a promise that he would be back.

As he was walking away, Draco heard Dumbledore's quiet pleading that he not do anything foolish.

"Bugger off, old man," Draco growled and Dumbledore's voice faded away.

Draco threw himself into the station wagon and put the key into the ignition. He slammed the car in reverse and looked over his shoulder. For a split second, he thought he saw Hermione in the passenger's seat, just as she had looked a hundred times since they had purchased the damn beast.

"What am I doing?" He asked himself incredulously. "I'm a wizard." He no longer had to keep up this muggle façade. Hermione was dead. They were discovered. Lord Voldemort knew exactly where to find him and no one could protect him anymore. Draco got out of the car, pulled out his wand and blew the ugly hulking pile of metal forty feet into the air. It landed with a crash and burst into flames. Draco felt a sliver of satisfaction as he watched it burn. Draco didn't know how long he stood there as the flames grew higher and higher, but when the sirens started, he apparated back to Primrose Lane, number 1307. He stared up at the unremarkable house that held all of his best memories. He hated this house. It was ordinary and small—everything that their romance had never been. "I'll do you just like the car," he promised. "When I'm done with you."

. . .

Draco was so absorbed in reading that he didn't hear the front door. Only when Harry and Ron were standing in front of him did he look up.

"What happened here?" Harry asked as he looked around the living room that Hermione had kept spotless the entire time she had lived here. Every surface was covered in beer cans and books, which were all in various states of destruction. Some books were just thrown open haphazardly, some were ripped and covered in spilled beer, and then there were the unlucky books, which had obviously been destroyed by magic.

"I wish you had called," Draco said distantly. "I would have picked up a bit."

Ron and Harry looked at one another. "A bit?" Ron asked. "You're going to need to burn the whole thing down and start anew."

"Yes, I've realized that," was Draco's serious reply and Ron gaped.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. Finally, Draco set the book he was reading aside. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair before pointing his wand at the book and shouting a spell at it. The book caught fire immediately and within a few seconds turned into a small pile of gray ash on the sofa.

"I've burnt it…" Draco said quietly as he swept the ash away to reveal a small burn hole on the cushion. "Hermione won't be happy…"

It was then that Ron and Harry began looking closer at the books that were scattered around the room. Every book was open to a section on communicating with the dead, raising the dead, or reanimating the dead.

"Draco, she's gone. Doing this—this kind of magic won't bring Hermione back… she wouldn't want this," Ron stuttered.

Draco's gray eyes narrowed. "We never talked about dying," he said. "We were too young and healthy to talk about it."

"We've all thought about it," Harry said suddenly. "Bringing someone we care about back to life after we lose them. But you can't. It's not natural. You know as well as anyone that it won't be Hermione who claws her way out of the ground when you summon her…"

"There's no other way to have her back," Draco said stubbornly.

"Are you even listening? You won't have her back. She will be the living dead—your zombie," Harry snapped. "She will take commands, she will kill or curse whoever you want her to, but she won't make you pancakes on Sundays or warm your bed at night. She is dead, Draco. Dead. Gone. Her soul will never come back. Do you really want an empty corpse parading around her in _her _clothes, in _her _jewelry, in _her _house?" Draco didn't answer. "If you do this, you will be sullying every real memory that you have of her. She would never forgive you for sacrificing your own soul for an illusion."

"Go." It was one word, but it communicated so much. Harry nodded and turned to leave.

"If you bring Hermione back from the dead, I _will_ kill you," he said quietly, then left, followed closely by his red headed companion.

Draco sank to the floor and leaned his head back against the couch. Before he could stop himself, he was slipping into a restless sleep.

Sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window and Draco's eyes slowly opened. "Gotta close the damn blinds," he growled as he threw his blankets aside and stood.

"Talking to yourself again?" Draco froze, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief. He turned slowly and found himself staring straight into his dead wife's chocolate brown eyes. But she didn't look dead. In fact, Hermione was very much perfect. Her hair was divinely messy—exactly the way it always was after they made love. She pulled the sheets all the way up to her chin almost shyly as he stared at her. "What?" She asked nervously.

Draco didn't know what to do or what to say. He was obviously dreaming or having a delusional fantasy. Seeing her smile and the shape of her body under the blankets though, it didn't matter if it was real or not. He walked back to the bed and slid underneath the covers. Her warm arms wrapped around him and he felt her soft lips against his cheek. He sighed and allowed himself to fall into this dream, this fantasy.

"_Reciproco per vitam_…" She whispered in his ear, her voice as soft as a summer breeze.

"What did you say?" He asked.

"_Reciproco per vitam…" _She repeated.

"Why are you saying that?"

"It's the answer," she replied simply. "It's the answer you've been looking for."

Draco turned to look at her, to ask her what she meant, but she was gone. The spot next to him was cold. The sheets were pulled over where Hermione had been. He moved the covers aside and let out a yelp. Next to him lay the perfectly set bones of a human body.

"_Reciprico per vitam," _whispered the skull that had taken her head's place on the pillow next to his.

"RECIPRICO PER VITAM!" Draco woke with a start, the words rolling off his tongue with perfect ease.

He scrambled to his feet, stumbling towards the door as his cramped legs woke up. He ran out into the street where it was once again snowing like crazy. He fell to his knees and began to laugh hysterically. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it before? _Reciprico per vitam…_ To travel backwards through life. Time travel. He wouldn't need to bring Hermione back to life if she never died… It all seemed so simple now—so clear.

But how… His excitement died as quickly as it had come on. He didn't know the potion that accompanied the spell. Only three wizards in the entire world knew it and he would never get the ingredients from Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange. The third was Tristan Roberts, a very clever wizard who specialized in very rare and very dangerous magics, but he would be just as impossible to reach considering no one had seen him in more than four years.

Draco felt the rage boiling up from deep inside his chest. He stood and walked back inside. He walked to the dining room table—the very one that he had found Hermione's lifeless body next to. Rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen, he finally found what he was looking for and laid it out. He held his wand loosely in his hand and dangled it over the map as he muttered, "Tristan Roberts," and thought of the wizard's ugly scarred face. For a long time, there was nothing—no indication that it was working. But a few hours passed solemnly by and Draco began to feel a small thrumming vibration in his wand hand. Another hour passed and it grew stronger. Draco's rage was still swelling and the angrier he got, the stronger the vibration became. Then it stopped. Draco looked down at the map he had sprawled in front of him. His wand was pointing at a very remote part of England. It was a place sprawling with villages and houses that stood more than three miles from each other.

Draco put the address firmly in his mind and with a loud pop disappeared. He landed roughly, gravel digging into his palms and knees. He groaned and brushed himself off before standing. Looking around, Draco almost smiled. Tristan Roberts had always been a fan of luxury. Where others asked for power or fame, Tristan had asked for things of great value. Money, houses, luxurious amenities. And now, at the Dark Lord's behest, Roberts was living in a shack that, once upon a time, had been a barn.

He walked to the door and blew it off. He didn't bother announcing himself. When Draco finally found him, Tristan was huddled in a corner with his wand. Upon seeing Draco, he had whimpered most pathetically and offered the other wizard his wand without a fight.

Once, a very long time ago, Draco had liked Tristan, but that was neither here nor there. All Draco saw when he looked at Tristan was a Death Eater and a Death Eater had killed the woman he loved and the child they had made together.

"I have questions that you're going to answer," Draco said and Roberts groaned.

"You know I can't go giving away the Dark Lord's secrets, Malfoy," he whimpered. "You _know_ that."

"We'll see." He pulled out his wand and, with the tenderness of a lover, whispered, "_Crucio."_

"We both know that you're going to give me that spell, Roberts. How long do you think you'll last before you lose your mind, you filthy git?" Draco paused, giving his freshly bound captive a chance to tell him what he wanted to hear. Roberts had tried to run, so Draco had bound him to a very uncomfortable looking chair. The ropes were tight enough that Draco could see Roberts' hands turning blue. "You're sure you're willing to die to protect that spell?" The man didn't open his mouth. "_Crucio_," Draco said apathetically and the man began writhing in pain, crying out like a dying animal. A minute later, Draco paused. "Change of heart yet?"

"Fuck. You." the man spat through gritted teeth.

Draco felt his blood boil, but he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it was critical he keep himself in check. "Give me the spell."

"I would _never_ help you save that mudblood _whore_." Draco kicked him swiftly in the leg and a sickening crack broke the sudden silence of the room. Roberts cried out again, his voice breaking with exhaustion. "My leg," he gasped in pain. "You broke my leg," he groaned. Draco wondered distantly how long it would take for Roberts to go into shock from the pain.

"That was a clean break—very easy to fix. I could mend it with a simple spell if you decided to cooperate," Draco said, bending down to look into the man's wide eyes. "Otherwise, I'm going to keep breaking bones and the longer we sit here, the longer they have to begin healing improperly… You'll never walk again."

The man squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a prayer. Draco punched him in the face with enough force to knock the chair onto its side. The man whimpered pathetically as his broken leg dangled awkwardly over the edge of the seat.

"Who do you pray to? Is there a god for people like you?" Draco shouted. "You're an idiot, Roberts," Draco spat, his lip curling in disgust. "No wonder the Dark Lord left you here to rot."

"The w-work I do for Him is c-c-critical to His plans. My c-conditions are a trifle when compared to the r-r-rewards that will follow upon the completion of my m-m-mission."

"You'll never be anything more to Voldemort than a means to an end. He will use you and he will kill you."

"I remember a time not so long ago that you too were a tool of the Dark Lord, Malfoy." Roberts sneered Draco's last name as if to emphasize Draco's dark family history.

"I'm bored of this. Do you think I am going to mess around with you much longer, Roberts?" Draco asked, suddenly calm. "You're not the only person who knows the spell."

"Bellatrix would die before she told you," Roberts laughed hysterically. His laugh turned into a cry when Draco nudged his dangling broken leg roughly with his foot.

"You know she's not the only one," Draco smiled a cold smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll kill every death eater I encounter until I find the one that can be bought—and you know there will be one," Draco lied. It was then that Roberts began to sob. "Are you going to tell me now, Roberts?" Roberts nodded and Draco lifted the chair right side up with little effort. Roberts cried out at the quick movement of his leg. "As soon as you tell me, I'll mend it and walk out of here. It'll be like I never came to visit."

Roberts laughed loudly, but there was little more than ironic humor in his voice. "You might as well kill me," Roberts said. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was breathing heavily trying not to faint. "He'll know you were here and He'll know that I told you the spell. The only reason I'm talking at this point is because we used to be friends."

"And you're hoping that you can run and hide faster than He can find you," Draco snapped, smacking Roberts' cheek lightly. "I'm not an idiot." Roberts looked up at him and said the words Draco had been waiting six hours to hear.

As promised, Draco mended Roberts' leg and left like he had never been there. Draco could hear Roberts screaming like a banshee up until the moment that he apparated. After mending him, he had tied Roberts up again and charmed the ropes. Roberts would be a sitting duck for the Dark Lord. Roberts would tell him everything, but Draco didn't care. All he could think about was when he would wake up with Hermione next to him, her brown eyes full of life and adoration.

This method of time travel was particularly tricky and took more than just a spell. In fact, it was one of six other known spells that required an accompanying potion. The potion itself wasn't very complicated, but the ingredients were difficult to find and the order and execution of each step was so specific that Draco's heart was in his throat the whole time he was preparing it. If he didn't get it just right, there were a million different things that could go terribly wrong. Draco could end up disfigured, lost in time, or even dead. That couldn't happen. It had to be perfect.

After the potion was completed, Draco started a timer. It would need to simmer for six days before it was ready for the final ingredient. He spent the first four days cleaning. He hadn't realized what a mess he had made of their house. Burned books and exploded beer cans were everywhere he looked. He repaired the couch, straightened the picture frames, and spent hours super gluing Hermione's porcelain figurines that had been broken in the struggle that ended with her death. On the fifth day, Ron, Ginny, and Harry showed up fully prepared to host an intervention.

Upon arrival Ginny had looked at her brother and her husband in disbelief and shouted, "Good Merlin, two couch pillows are out of place and you two make it sound like he's gone off the deep end!"

Harry and Ron had looked just as surprised as Ginny when they saw how tidy everything was. They apologized for bringing Ginny to straighten him out, told him how happy they were that he had decided to move on from his… _unhealthy_ obsession. He had nodded and smiled in all the right places and his words must have seemed believable and sincere because within an hour of arriving, the trio had left again.

He sank into the couch cushions once he was sure that they were gone and allowed himself to fall asleep.

He hadn't closed his eyes for more than an hour before he heard a noise upstairs that made him bolt upright. He listened closely and heard the distinct sounds of whispers and moving around. He ran into the kitchen to grab his baseball bat, then realized he wasn't a muggle anymore and that his assailants in all likelihood were not muggles either. He ran back and grabbed his wand off the coffee table and crouched low.

_The potion is upstairs_, he remembered with a pang and his quiet steps on tip toes turned into a thundering sprint. He collided with someone on the stairs and threw them over the railing onto the couch below. They grunted and groaned in pain as they attempted to curse him. He dodged and rounded the second landing where he found himself face to face with none other than Gregory Goyle, his school chum and ex colleague in the ranks of Lord Voldemort. Goyle had grown fat, his large bulky muscles going soft due to lack of exercise and excessive food.

"Come to finish it, have you?" Draco asked. "How was it? Killing a pregnant woman, I mean."

Before Goyle could open his mouth in response, Draco pointed his wand directly in his face and yelled, "_Crucio!"_ Goyle fell to his knees, crying out in pain, begging for Draco to stop. But Draco was enjoying it too much. His body was more alive in this moment of vengeance than it had been since… since… Draco stopped as he remembered what was important. He left Goyle crying on the stairs and bolted into the bathroom attached to his and Hermione's bedroom. Draco looked at the potion, which was at a slight boil and cursed. It was a light purplish blue color. He knew from what Roberts had said that it would be ready only when it had gone completely purple. Six more hours and it would be fully ready, but he didn't have six more hours. He grabbed the bottle on the counter and poured the contents of the cauldron inside. It didn't look nearly as blue now, Draco convinced himself as he pulled his cloak on and hid the bottle in a deep pocket. He waved his wand and with a pop was gone again.

He landed with a light thud on the street outside. He smirked as he muttered the words that would send his house—his personal hell and the enemies within it—straight into oblivion. When it was done, he didn't stick around to watch it burn. He didn't need to. POP and Draco disappeared for the last time.

This time the landing wasn't rough at all. He landed ankle deep in soft, heavenly sand. His feet sank in and he fell back, refusing to move. He knew he was safe here—as safe as he could be anymore, he reminded himself bitterly. He sat up suddenly and looked out over the water. This was the island that he and Hermione had picked. This was the exact spot that they would have lived out the next few years in safe solitude with their little girl. Andromeda would have been her name.

Draco pulled the bottle out of his pocket and closed his eyes, pretending Hermione was next to him, holding his hand. He needed her more now than he had ever needed anyone. He drank the overly sweet draught and let it settle before pulling out his wand and pointing it at himself. He said the words quietly with an almost graceful twirl of his wand and for a few seconds, Draco Malfoy was no more.

AN: Hope you enjoyed! This was a difficult chapter to write and I hope you all found Draco's character interesting enough. Thank you for reading and please review!


	3. Of Winning and Losing

**_Chapter Three: Of Winning and Losing_**

"Please, I _must_ speak with Headmaster Dumbledore this instant," Draco demanded—growing increasingly frustrated at the unimpressive effect his sixteen year old body seemed to have on adults.

"I seriously doubt that anything you have to say to Professor Dumbledore is grave enough to require an immediate audience, Mr. Malfoy," was McGonagall's terse reply. "He is busy, as am I," she added pointedly.

"Please, Minerva," Draco begged, grabbing her hands and looking straight into her cold gray eyes with his own. "It is urgent. I have cast a very serious and dangerous spell and I'm afraid it's gone awry."

"That is _Professor_ McGonagall," McGonagall snapped, tearing her hands from his. She looked furious and confused at the same time. "You just wait here."

McGonagall walked down the main passage and Draco found himself very alone in the Transfiguration Wing of Hogwarts. His mind was racing. It had worked. Hermione was alive. He could have jumped for joy just then had he not been very certain his leg was broken, not to mention the fact that he had gone several years too far—9 and a half to be exact. _Damn Goyle!_

It seemed like hours before McGonagall returned, but when she did, he was relieved to realize she _was_ going to take him to Dumbledore after all. "The Headmaster will see you. Come with me," she said shortly as she led him through corridor after corridor. The pain in his leg was excruciating and every few minutes he would pause for just a second to regain his composure. His leg could wait.

As they walked, Draco recognized a few corridors here or there, but everything else in the castle was a complete and utter loss to him. If McGonagall hadn't been there guiding him, Draco had no doubt that he would be lost by now. It had been almost ten years since he had set foot in Hogwarts last and not much less than that since he had thought of it.

They paused in front of a fierce looking statue of a gargoyle. Draco was about to ask why they were stopping, but McGonagall, as if anticipating his questions, quickly muttered, "canary cream." The Gargoyle spiraled upwards and a small enclosure appeared. McGonagall stepped inside first and motioned for Draco to follow.

Draco stepped out of the Gargoyle, a fascinated look on his face. He had heard about the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, but he had never seen it for himself. A giant reddish orange bird, a phoenix he noted with slight awe, was standing in a cage off in the corner, but it watched Draco's every move. Draco got the eerie feeling that the bird saw right through him—knew he wasn't at all what he seemed.

"The Headmaster will be here shortly. I have assignments to grade and lessons to plan. Don't touch anything while you wait," McGonagall snapped suddenly and before Draco could respond, she swept from the room, her emerald robes trailing behind her, and the gargoyle elevator disappeared.

Panting, Draco walked to Dumbledore's desk, where he sat with a grunt. He let out a sigh of relief at the lessening pain in his leg. He waited there for a few minutes before he grew restless, rose from his seat, and limped to the window. To his intense pleasure, Dumbledore's office had a clear and wonderful view of the Quidditch pitch. Even now, first years were at their flying lessons, zooming through the air, barely holding onto their brooms—but they were smiling just the way he had a long while ago. His chest clenched and he looked away. To his surprise, Dumbledore had entered and was feeding his phoenix candy from his palm.

"Fawkes loves his jelly beans," the old man said seriously. "I save the particularly grotesque flavors for him. He seems to enjoy them most."

It was absurd. Now that Draco stood face to face with the living breathing Dumbledore of his childhood, he didn't know what to say or where he would even begin. He suddenly felt very young and afraid.

"Professor McGonagall told me you had done something dangerous," he said slowly and Draco met his eyes for the first time since Dumbledore had entered. "If only she knew the truth of how dangerous."

"Sir?" Draco asked. There was no way that Dumbledore could know… Not just from looking at him. After all, Draco knew he was in his sixteen year old body. It had been a point of utmost frustration when trying to find anyone to take him seriously.

"What have you done, Draco?" The old man asked and Draco didn't like the reproach in his voice.

"What I had to," he said shortly and all of the sudden, Draco was telling Dumbledore everything that had happened—everything that was yet to happen.

"A very sad story indeed," the Headmaster said gravely as he stroked his silver beard. "I must think on this very hard and decide what is to be done. In the mean time, you must tell no one of this."

"Not even Hermione?" Draco gulped.

"_Especially_ Miss Granger." Draco physically blanched at the man's finality. It brooked no argument. "You have created a very serious problem here, Mr. Malfoy. To some extent, damage has already been done. The best we can do is prevent more from being done, reverse what we can, and attempt to fix what we cannot reverse."

Draco wanted to scream at Dumbledore just then. Tell him he was never going back to that void without Hermione. They would have to kill him first. But there was no point. There was no way for Dumbledore to reverse the spell. He couldn't even send Draco back into his own time. So, Draco bit his tongue and nodded solemnly, agreeing to all of Dumbledore's terms despite the knowledge that he would not heed them.

Dumbledore paused for a time as he stared off at something that was invisible to Draco. "The spell you have used is a very ancient one—a very clever one that requires such skill and precision that few are desperate or brave enough to attempt it and even fewer succeed at it," he said quietly. "I am sure you know why." Draco nodded. "This spell has the potential to change a great deal about our world. It differs from the time turners that we use here at Hogwarts in that way. Do what you will with a time turner and yet you find yourself trapped in a sequence of events outside of your control. Cast this spell and the world is open to you—you can change one thing or you can change everything. _That_ is why it is a dark magic. _That _is why good wizards do not use this spell and why even the darkest ones fear it." He let his words sink in and Draco realized what the old man was saying. He was saying: _I'll be watching you, Malfoy…_ "You'll be staying in the Slytherin dorms as usual, of course. Your prefectorial duties will remain unchanged and you will act as though you are a sixteen year old wizard, which means no advanced spells. It is very important that your presence here remain unremarkable, am I clear?" Draco nodded for what seemed like the fiftieth time within the last hour. "It is almost bedtime. I daresay you should head straight to the Slytherin dormitories so you are not missed."

"I think I had best head for the hospital wing first, Albus," Draco said and for the first time, Dumbledore looked at Draco's leg. His pants were torn and there was blood. A piece of white bone was clearly visible.

"As you will, then," Dumbledore said quietly, seemingly surprised at how long Draco had been able to stand his leg being in that state. "Ask the first student you see outside of my office for assistance to Madam Pomfrey." Draco turned to leave. "And Mr. Malfoy," he called and Draco paused. "We may have a very different relationship in the future, but I am your headmaster and you are my student. I think it would be best if you called me Professor Dumbledore."

"Yes, sir," Draco said as he limped towards the gargoyle. It opened and he stepped through.

Draco's luck in the past was apparently no better than his luck in the future had been, for when he stepped outside of Dumbledore's office, the first person—or group of people, rather—he stumbled upon was Harry Potter and his best friends Ronald and Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger.

He froze the instant he saw her and Hermione looked away, turning red in embarrassment at the memory of the way his eyes had seemed to drink her in. "Her—Granger," Draco said, remembering Dumbledore's demands.

Harry let out a growl as he moved between them and Draco frowned. "What is it you want, Malfoy?"

"To speak with… Granger." It seemed weird and irksome to have to act so aloof and call her by her surname when he knew her favorite flower, what songs she sang in the shower, and every intimate detail of her body. _Not yet, you don't, _he had to remind himself. _She still hates you…_ He cleared his throat and said, "Dumbledore told me to ask for her assistance to the hospital wing." It was only a partial lie, but it was enough—enough to cause a momentary chaos anyways.

"She's not going anywhere with you," Ron snarled.

Draco managed his sincerest Slytherin smirk and rounded his eyes on Hermione. "Headmaster's orders. Go ask him yourself if you like. I can wait." She bit her lip in that adorable way she did when she was caught between a rock and a hard place.

"I'll meet you all back at the dormitories," she said. "He's obviously being truthful or he wouldn't be telling us to ask Dumbledore ourselves." Harry nodded, but Ron seemed the most opposed to her going with him.

"Take Ginny with you at least," he spat.

"It will be past curfew. She'll lose house points," Hermione stated logically. "Honestly, I can handle myself." Her tone was peevish and Draco couldn't keep himself from smiling, which the Gryffindors interpreted as something mischievous. Ron's face turned red and Harry looked ready to argue, but Ginny grabbed them both by their cloaks and dragged them away mumbling about stupid Slytherins and stupid boys.

"Whatever is wrong with you, it serves you right and I hope it hurts—_terribly_." And those were the last words she spoke to him the entire way to the hospital wing. Draco didn't mind. Her words kept playing through his mind: _I hope it hurts—terribly._ If only she knew how much it hurt. Just being in close proximity and not being able to touch her was enough to cause an ache so deep he could hardly stand it. Forget what it was like every time she brushed her hair out of her face, wafting her light floral scent in his direction. He was dying, he was sure.

"We're here," she snapped coldly as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"So we are," he agreed. "Wait here? I should only be a minute or two." Hermione's eyes opened wide in indignation.

"You didn't say I had to _wait_ for you too," Hermione growled.

"How else will I be able to get down the staircases into the dungeon?" He asked.

"You can drag yourself down there by your teeth for all I care, Malfoy." Even as she said the words, she leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. Draco walked in and Madam Pomfrey was on him in an instant.

"What happened? Oh dear, that's quite _nasty_. Does it hurt? Of _course_ it does, dear," she mooned but all he could think about was whether or not the 16 year old version of Hermione was still standing outside. "Here you go. This is for the pain, this for the mending. Now let me see…" Draco cursed as she poked and prodded him with her wand. Finally, she muttered a mending spell, poured her vile concoction down his throat and sent him on his way.

To his surprise and disappointment, Hermione wasn't waiting for him when he finally left. He hadn't really expected any less, he supposed. _Yes, you did…_ He hated himself for feeling bothered by it. He remembered just as well as she did what an ass he had been—still was, in her eyes.

This was going to be harder than he thought. Draco made his way, slowly but surely, down staircase after staircase and corridor after corridor. He didn't know how long he had been walking before he finally stumbled upon the entrance to the Slytherin common room, but he knew it must be late. The entire castle was dead silent and no students were hurrying around anymore. Draco was about to utter the password to get inside when he realized he didn't know it. With a howl of frustration, he leaned his back against the cold, rough wall and slid onto his butt. He would wait for someone to come looking for him, he decided. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head. His eyes closed, against his better judgment, and as he waited, his consciousness slipped away.

"What the—" Draco woke as a shoe nudged his sleeping legs out from under his head. He scrambled to his feet, his platinum hair falling into his face. "What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" Growled their seventh year prefect, Lucian Bole.

"I forgot the password, so I decided to wait," he replied, not happy at all about the crowd of Slytherins that was now pouring out into the hallway to watch the spectacle. It was obviously morning, which meant he had been out in the corridor all night.

"It's been on the notice board for two days already and you forgot?" Bole asked.

"As I _said_," Draco replied.

"It's dogbane. Write it down or something so you don't _forget_."

It was hard for Draco to contain himself. Intellectually, he realized that Bole was actually older, but from the perspective of his 26 year old mind, it was hard to see him as anything but a child.

"Thank you," he said through gritted teeth.

"Go get changed and make yourself presentable. Classes start in twenty minutes. I guess you'll have to skip breakfast." Bole shoved Draco aside and swept off down the corridor looking as snide and arrogant as Draco had ever remembered him being.

"What a miserable _git_," Draco muttered and there were sniggers from the rest of the Slytherins. "Bugger off, you lot," he snapped and the first and second years bolted. The older students dispersed more slowly and with much more trepidation. Not even students of his own year dared to cross him. After all, Draco was a prefect too.

"Dogbane," Draco said and the wall slid aside to reveal the short corridor to the Slytherin common room. To his relief, his leg pain had been reduced to a small ache deep within the healing bones. It would take a few days for the potion to complete its work, but the change in his level of discomfort was already monumental.

The sixth year Slytherin dormitories were spacious and grand, but very cold. The stone walls kept no heat and any bit of heat that did manage to survive in the dungeon level rooms was absorbed by the lake, which was directly above a portion of the dorms. Draco shuddered as he walked to his four-poster. He knew it was his because it was flanked on one side by Crabbe's massive pile of dirty clothes and by the other, Goyle's candy wrappers and cookie crumbs. It was just like old times—except not. Crabbe and Goyle might be the same, but Draco couldn't have been more different.

Meeting up with Goyle was an uncomfortable thought considering that Draco was almost positive that Goyle had been the one that had performed the killing curse that had killed Hermione and their unborn child. Add to that the fact that Draco had killed him not even twenty four hours ago and you had the recipe for a disaster. Draco rummaged through his neatly organized things to find his schedule, fresh clothes, and a cloak that wasn't covered in blood and dust.

He changed quickly and managed to stuff his mouth with chocolate frogs at the same time. Draco did not miss the hunger that came along with being a 16 year old going through a growth spurt. As he skimmed his schedule, his chest filled with dread. Draco had several classes he happened to know Crabbe and Goyle were in. Draco couldn't for the life of him remember why he had signed up for such remedial and simple courses. His skills were far more advanced than those of his two comrades. He would have to speak to Snape about changing things around a little. Not only would that give him a reason to spend less time with Crabbe and especially Goyle, but it would also allow him a distraction from the one thing that he knew would plague his mind every minute of every day.

As he sat at the edge of his bed, Draco wondered if Hermione was eating breakfast with her friends. He wondered if she was happy…

. . .

Hermione looked at her companions and let out a sigh of contentment. They were all talking about what they were going to do in Hogsmeade next weekend. Harry needed a new broom care kit, Ronald wanted some prank candy from Fred and George's shop, and Ginny had heard there were some interesting new enchanted scarves at Grottsworth's. Hermione herself needed some new quills as Ron and Harry had managed to destroy most of her set during a particularly fierce game of Wizard's Chess. Hermione wanted to know when Harry's set had learned to breathe fire, but it was a moot point. Ron and Harry were incorrigible—they would do what they wanted, against the rules or not.

Taking a final bite of toast, Hermione gathered her books and said farewell to her friends. She had advanced arithmancy, which none of them had had the desire, nor the grades to get into. The class itself had only six students: two Gryffindors (Hermione and a seventh year named Meryl Early), three Ravenclaws, and one particularly clever second year Hufflepuff that had been placed by McGonagall personally.

So far, they hadn't done much in the way of actually practicing arithmancy. From what Hermione could tell, they were first going to delve deep into the history and theory of it. What came after, she was genuinely excited about.

Hermione sat in her normal seat near the front and was happy to see her partner's seat empty. This gave her an opportunity to pull out her sixth year transfiguration text book and begin next week's assignment. It was pretty much a sure bet that if her nose was in a book, no one would bother her. The Hufflepuff that insisted on seating himself right next to her was very talkative and Hermione wasn't in much of a mood for trivial pleasantries as of late. It was becoming more and more apparent that her attention needed to be very securely focused on learning. Her ability to perform magic was going to be the only thing that could protect her friends, and just as importantly, her parents.

Voldemort was getting bolder with his attacks and more than one muggle had been murdered since his existence had been outed last school year. Muggles weren't his only targets however. To Hermione's horror, over the summer she had learned of several muggle born students being attacked while back home. Houses were attacked with strong magic in broad daylight. The Death Eaters were brutal and had no qualms leaving a trail of death and misery in their wake. All of this had solidified Hermione's desire for her parents to leave the country and she had spent the last four months figuring out exactly how to do it without frightening them half to death.

Professor Vector arrived and Hermione was forced from her thoughts as the woman immediately plunged into the day's lesson. Hermione looked to her right and was surprised to see that Gerald Micken, her Hufflepuff partner, was still not present.

"Today, we are going to discuss number symbology and where we derive a number's meaning from," Vector announced. "You'll want to take very good notes this morning. This is guaranteed to be on your midterms."

As she scribbled frantically, Hermione became comfortably lost in their symbolic dissection of the number four. Her mind wandered for a moment to a pair of cold grey eyes that belonged to a Slytherin that had been particularly bothersome as of late. Hermione pretended not to notice, but he watched her all the time. In classes their houses shared, she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. At breakfast and dinner, she had been exasperated to realize that he could always be found sitting at the end of the Slytherin table that most closely corresponded to her own seat. She had no idea what she had done to deserve his attention, but it was starting to cost her sleep. In her deepest, most secret thoughts, Hermione feared that Malfoy was planning something. His father was a well-known Death Eater and Hermione was a _very_ well known mudblood.

She would awaken some nights drenched in sweat. It was always the same nightmare. Her parents were dead—murdered. And the last thing she saw before being killed herself was a pair of cold grey eyes…

"Miss Granger, would you please tell the class who discovered the magical properties of the number seven. Mr. Cross seems to have forgotten."

"It was Bridget Wenlock in the 13th century, Professor," Hermione stated without hesitation.

"And how did she come about this discovery?"

"By sheer luck," Hermione said and there were chuckles around the room.

"Humorous," Vector stated with a smile, "and not at all wrong."

The rest of the class was thought consuming and Hermione was glad she didn't have a second to spare for wayward thoughts. If Malfoy had something planned, it was nothing that Hermione and her friends couldn't deal with when the time came.

As she packed up her things, Hermione saw Professor Vector motioning her to come to the front when she was done.

"I thought I should be the one to tell you that Micken won't be joining us for advanced arithmancy anymore," she said matter-of-factly.

"Alright," Hermione said, absorbing the information with little surprise. Micken was very clever, but easily reduced to a puddle of panic whenever quizzes or exams were near. His dropping out of one of the hardest courses offered at Hogwarts nothing less than what she had expected.

"Group work will need to be done with Early and her partner, but other than that, I see no reason why you can't work alone." Hermione nodded gratefully and ran off to her next class—care of magical creatures with Hagrid, Harry, and Ron, thankfully.

It ended up being a long day and Hermione was exhausted when they finally trudged their way up to Gryffindor tower. The only positive thing Hermione could look back on was that they had had minimal encounters with Slytherins. Tomorrow, there would be no such luck. Double potions in the afternoon followed by transfiguration with them. Hermione fell into bed and closed her eyes, praying for dreamless sleep.

. . .

There were fire engines and ambulances parked all down Primrose Lane. Light danced into every alley and crevice except one across the street where stood the astral shadow of Bellatrix Lestrange. She was watching—waiting for all the muggles to put out the fire and leave, and when they did, she walked from between two houses and became her full corporeal self. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in unkempt ringlets. Her clothes were dirty and disheveled but did wonders to accentuate her figure. Bellatrix was tall with a womanly shape. In her small hand, she gripped her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

There was no doubt in her mind that this was the work of the traitor Draco Malfoy. She had met few wizards who could cause this kind of destruction and walk away. She scowled as she approached. She could smell burning flesh. Goyle and Knock were obviously dead. But where had Draco gone?

She pulled up her sleeves and muttered a few guttural words under her breath. She was suddenly met with the unwilling shade of Gregory Goyle.

"Where is Malfoy?" She asked coldly.

"What happened? I was… gone and now I'm here… again."

"Where is Malfoy?" She repeated, growing impatient.

"Malfoy…" Goyle said slowly, scratching his transparent head. "Malfoy… He apparated. I heard it." He squinted as he thought even harder. "I went to the window and he was there," he pointed. "That's when… he killed us."

Bellatrix waved her wand and Goyle screamed in agony as his shade rippled and faded away in an acrid smelling fog.

She walked to the exact spot that Goyle had pointed at and closed her eyes. She felt the residual magic and focused. With a loud POP, she followed in Draco's magical wake. In less than a second, Bellatrix found herself standing in the sun, her back to the ocean. She looked around and sighed. That was the end of the trail. Draco had to be here.

Walking slowly inland, Bellatrix kicked off her sand-filled shoes and left them behind. Before her stood an immense jungle.

"I will find you, Draco Malfoy," she promised as she disappeared into the trees.

. . .

AN: Shocking how fast this is coming along. Thank you for your reviews and I hope you're not disappointed. I love this chapter because you get to see what other characters are doing. Draco is a little doom and gloom right now :P Review please!


	4. Mr Malfoy's Monumental Misfortune

**_Chapter Four: Mr. Malfoy's Monumental Misfortune_**

Draco shivered uncontrollably as the storm raged overhead, pelting him with rain and stray branches from the surrounding trees. It was day three of hell. When the weather first turned bad, Draco had tried to find shelter in the jungle, but that had been short-lived. The Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts had nothing on this island's flora and fauna. Thanks to his foray into the trees, Draco was sporting a shredded cloak, a broken wand, and a sprained ankle—all caused by some kind of small, furry reptile that blew up to the size of an ape when someone, say a sixth year Slytherin, tried to cook it alive with his wand for breakfast. Potter and his band of misfits would pay for every wound and every embarrassment that befell him during his stay here—wherever _here_ was.

He jumped at the sound of booming thunder and cowered when lightning flashed across the sky. Draco wasn't afraid of storms, but he had never been so close to one before. The island had no safe shelter, no reprieve. His chances of being struck by lightning were far better here than anywhere else, he was sure. Draco wrapped his tattered cloak tighter around him and hummed quietly as he waited—for what, he wasn't sure.

Another clap of thunder and a flash revealed a dark figure in the sand about twenty feet away and Draco let out a howl of fear. The air went dark again and Draco began crawling backwards towards the trees. The sky lit up again and the figure was directly in front of him. It went dark again before he could see the person's face. He felt claws gripping at his front and he was pulled to his feet. "Found you," came the desperate rasp of a woman's voice. It was slightly familiar, but Draco was too frightened to think. "I had thought," She drawled meanly, "that you would prove more of a challenge."

"W-why are you looking for me?" He stuttered. "Did m-my father send you?"

"Your _father_," the woman sneered with a laugh. "Your father is still in Azkaban. Your _real_ father, the father we all must answer to, sent me."

"I d-don't understand… please let me go. I don't know how I got here. I think Potter and his friends did s-some kind of spe—"

"I grow _so_ bored of talking," she said apathetically. Lightning, his aunt's grotesque face and… "_Crucio._" Draco had never felt such pain in his life. Every nerve was on fire, every muscle was twitching, every bone locking up as he spasmed unnaturally. His vision went blurry at the edges and he heard her laughter as blackness engulfed him.

When Draco woke, he was glad to find that he was no longer on that dreadful island. He was curious however as to why he was on a bed of straw chained to the wall of what looked like a very dirty and dismal basement or dungeon… Who would dare presume to hold Draco Malfoy, the son of one of the most influential wizards in the world, captive?

He tried to think of the island and how he had gotten here, but all he could recall was excruciating pain and the expression of sheer hatred on the face of… his aunt Bella? Draco shook the image out of his head. He had obviously been struck by lightning and hallucinated the whole thing. Even as he nodded to himself confidently, a seed of doubt was growing. Something was terribly wrong in his world and he had a feeling it didn't end with his leaving the island. He felt different.

Upon some personal exploration, Draco realized that his body was all wrong. He was bigger and stronger, his feet were heavier than he remembered them being and he felt clumsy just moving around. He longed for a mirror. He wanted to see what disgusting things Potter and his friends had done to him—even if it was horrid. They must have disfigured him or transformed him into someone else. That would explain why he had been captured and dragged here… Yes… it was beginning to make sense.

He leaned his head back against the cold stone wall as he thought about how he was going to explain his situation to whoever was keeping him here. They would no doubt be horrified when they realized they had Draco Malfoy in their care rather than an ugly ogre. They would probably set him free immediately—or give him better accommodations until his father arrived to get him. His mouth watered at the thought of a nice warm butter beer. Draco tapped his fingers on his knee impatiently now. The sooner his captor came to beat, torture or kill him, the sooner he could explain the truth and be set free.

To his excitement, it was only an hour or two into his consciousness that he heard rapid footsteps, the turn of a very rusty key and lock, and a person entered. Their cloak was a dark blue and their hood hid their face.

"There's been a misunderstanding," Draco began, realizing his voice was all wrong too—it was annoyingly deep and hoarse from disuse. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he stated as if it would clear everything up.

"I know exactly who you are, you traitor," said the woman beneath the cloak. She reached up and revealed her face to him. Draco let out a gasp of shock to behold none other than his aunt Bella. "My sister had the misfortune of giving birth to you."

For what seemed like hours there was only silence. Draco watched her as she walked to the corner of the room and delicately removed her velvet gloves one at a time. He didn't know what to say. His own aunt had betrayed him—had used an unforgivable curse on him, he was quite sure. Why?

"Why have you done this to me?" Draco asked.

"Your act is getting old, nephew," she growled, her cold dark eyes piercing through him like daggers. He had never seen her look so… evil. He remembered that after her escape, she had come to stay with the Malfoys—a very dirty secret, of course. She had taught him several advanced curses, taken him to a muggle bating, and had even bought him his first mummy hand…

"My mother won't be very pleased," Draco said. Appealing to whatever sense of skewed loyalty she had left seemed like the only route left to him now.

"Since when do you care about your mother? It's been seven years since you've spoken to her," Bellatrix snapped. "You're right though. She won't be happy, but she'll understand this must be done. Your mother may still love you, but her dedication to Voldemort is stronger than whatever pathetic emotions the memory of your residency in her womb excites."

"Seven… years?" Draco asked incredulously. "I sent her an owl last Saturday," he practically shouted. "I thanked her for the box of chocolate frogs and canary creams she sent me…" Bellatrix paused, her eyes barely betraying her sudden confusion.

"And where did your mother send this package?"

"To me. At Hogwarts… I'm a sixth year prefect there, remember?"

"You don't look like a sixth year Hogwarts student," she said bemusedly. With a wave of her wand, she conjured a mirror from thin air and Draco gaped open mouthed at what he saw. He wasn't a disgusting giant like he had thought. He was… _him. _Just older. _Much_ older, he realized. His face was longer, more angular. There was a light silvery scar that ran from his left eyebrow to his chin. His platinum hair was shorter than he had ever had it. His shoulders were broad and his athletic form had very much filled out. He had to be six feet tall…

"_MERLIN,_" Draco roared. Potter couldn't have done this… This was the work of the most advanced aging spell Draco had every encountered.

"Are you meaning to tell me that you _aren't_ the Draco Malfoy that forsook his name and rank to marry a mudblood? That you _didn't _kill two Death Eaters three nights ago? That you _didn't_ betray Lord Voldemort to join the ranks of Dumbledore's pathetic Order of the Phoenix?" Draco's eyes opened wide. He looked at himself in the mirror again and pulled up his left sleeve. He ran his fingers over the macabre tattoo that marred his pale flesh. It shouldn't have surprised him to see it—he had always known what he was destined for. But Draco didn't remember it.

Draco dropped to his knees and sat back. Bellatrix approached him and crouched in front of him. "There is only one way to know the truth," she spat. "We'll let _Him _decide."

"Him?" Draco asked dumbly and she smiled her cruel smile, showing her yellowed teeth.

"You might be a very good liar or you really are my sixteen year old nephew trapped in the body of a traitor. Either way this is going to be _most_ interesting." She stood and swept out of the room, the click of her heels echoing loudly off the stone floor and walls.

"Bollocks," Draco cursed. He couldn't take his eyes off of his reflection. Everything Bellatrix had said was swimming though his mind as fast as a golden snitch… Him marry a mudblood—betraying his family and his honor to do so? Him killing Death Eaters—his father's friends most likely? She had it all wrong. Draco was a good son... He did everything Lucius Malfoy had ever asked of him. He was an avid studier of his family's lines and he hated mudbloods with the appropriate level of passion… How could this have happened?

Draco didn't have much time to ponder his misfortune. It wasn't long before Bellatrix returned to take him directly to Lord Voldemort himself. Draco couldn't stop shaking. He was ashamed of his cowardice and Bellatrix was disgusted, but there was no helping it. Lord Voldemort had always scared the magic out of him.

The air warmed considerably once they were above ground and Draco slowly regained control of his gigantic body. Every once in a while he managed to trip over his massive feet, but every time Bellatrix caught him before he fell on his face. As they walked, he observed their surroundings. They were in a very large house—one that Draco had never seen before. It was very old and had the strong smell of mold. The walls were lined with animated portraits and still ones alike. Every other hallway or so, Draco saw an interesting artifact that he would have liked the time to inspect more closely.

Finally they paused outside of a large, wooden door. Bellatrix knocked and hissed something Draco couldn't understand. There was a responding hiss and the door flew open with a bang.

Bellatrix shoved Draco roughly inside and slammed the door shut behind them. They were alone in the room with Voldemort, who was standing at the fireplace, his back to them. Draco jumped a foot in the air as something long and slimy slithered between his legs. _Nagini…_

"Hello, Draco," the Dark Lord said as he turned to face them and Draco cringed away. Voldemort was the most hideous person that Draco had ever seen. His face was pale and grotesque. His eyes were red and his nose wasn't a nose at all, merely two slits that looked eerily snake like. His mouth was lipless and thin…

Voldemort chuckled loudly and Bellatrix looked nervous. "You bring me a child, Bellatrix?"

"He's no child," Bellatrix snarled prodding at Draco's body with her wand.

"His body is not that of a child, you are right," Voldemort hissed. "But look at him and truly see him." He pointed his wand at Bellatrix and her eyes glazed over. She glanced at Draco and a frown flitted across her face.

"Of course," she said. Her eyes returned to their normal shade of black and she looked at Draco with even more loathing.

"This isn't a complete failure, dear Bella. We can use this…" Voldemort said quietly. "While you find the real traitor, wherever he may be, I will reintroduce Draco Malfoy into my innermost circle of Death Eaters. They will be happy to have such a powerful wizard among them once again."

"He's just a boy," Bellatrix argued. "It will take five minutes for the others to realize he knows nothing."

"Yes, they will know the truth," he said excitedly. "But, they will keep our secret. After all, what do you think it will do to the confidence of our enemies when Draco Malfoy, one of their most trusted members reveals that he was a traitor the whole time?" He asked. "That his marriage to the mudblood was merely a show and that when the moment was ripe, he killed Granger himself and set his Dark Lord's true plan into motion?"

Bellatrix's smile was the most awful thing Draco had ever seen. She looked hungry and disturbingly happy at the thought of so much misery. Draco felt like a rock had been forced down his throat and into his stomach. Even at sixteen, Draco didn't have much of a stomach for such darkness…

Slowly, they both turned to him, their eyes gleaming with greed and design. "You _will _do this, Malfoy. Or you will die." Draco gulped and nodded.

"Yes… Lord." He bent his knee and knelt, knowing that sooner rather than later he would come to regret ever being rescued from that miserable island.

. . .

AN: Fun, fun. Voldie-kins' debut in my story. Quite a nasty piece of work in my opinion. Hope you all enjoyed the next installment. I had no idea it was going to progress so fast in my mind. As always, thank you for reading and I would really enjoy your comments/suggestions. Please review! Your words keep me going!


	5. Relearning How to Be Bad

**_Chapter Five: Relearning How to be Bad_**

By the time Draco finally got out of Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class, he was covered in acromantula saliva, which had a very foul odor and strong acidic properties. Half of his cloak was gone when he finally reached the office of Severus Snape, his head of house and the former Potion's Master at Hogwarts. Within days of being named the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Snape had smugly and giddily interred himself in the accompanying office, which _was _a great deal larger than his old one.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, his mouth twitching into a small smile/sneer. "What a pleasant surprise." Snape took in his disheveled appearance and his smile turned into a deep frown. "Don't tell me," he drawled. "That oaf's class?" Draco nodded, suppressing the urge to tell Snape how disrespectful it was to speak so openly about another professor in front of a mere student. "Dear, dear…"

"I need to get out of it," Draco groaned. "When am I ever going to need to harvest my own acromantula venom?"

"Very true, very true, Mr. Malfoy." Snape looked down at his desk and shuffled through some papers. "It's two months into the term. You will be hard pressed to find a professor to take you into their classroom. Then there's the little catch that if you do manage to find one and you flounder, your grades will reflect very poorly on Slytherin—on me."

"I will work twice as hard as any other student to catch up," Draco swore and he meant it.

"Yes, you will," Snape drawled. "I'll make sure of that." Rummaging through a drawer at the bottom of the desk, Snape let out an "aha" and straightened. "How about a Herbology course with a focus on practical application in the world of potions?"

Draco's mouth gaped a little. Nothing sounded more boring. "That class is going to be teeming with third years, professor."

"Indeed." Snape looked back down at the parchment in his hand and read quietly to himself. "The only courses that aren't full are: Unforgivable Curses, with me; Advanced Divination with professor Trelawney; and Advanced Arithmancy with professor Vector." The second he mentioned arithmancy, Draco knew that's what he would take. It had always fascinated him as a student, but he had never applied himself enough to excel at it—until Hermione.

"Advanced Arithmancy sounds like a solid choice," Draco said and Snape seemed surprised.

"It is a very difficult subject," Snape said. "Very dull, I understand. Not yesterday did one of the six souls daft enough to take it drop the course…"

"Yes, I know it is hard," Draco argued. "But I'm good at it. There will be less catching up to be done."

"As you wish." Snape waved his wand at the parchment and writing appeared. "Take this to professor Vector and that should be that. You might be able to just catch her in the staff room."

Draco rolled the parchment up very carefully and practically ran to the staff room. He knocked tentatively and the door creaked open. Just as Snape had said, Vector was in the corner with a hot cup of tea and a pile of papers a foot high.

"Professor Vector?" He asked as he approached.

She didn't even look up as she muttered an apathetic, "yes?"

"I'll be switching into your class," he said after clearing his throat. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, an amused expression on her face.

"Is that right?" With a wave of her wand, the papers disappeared with a light pop and she motioned for Draco to sit down. He handed her Snape's parchment and she read it, her eyes laughing the entire time. "Professor Snape gives you a glowing recommendation, to be sure," she said more to herself than to Draco. "And yet, it _is_ two months into the term. We've already covered arithmantic theory up through the seventeen hundreds."

"You will find me very well versed in arithmantic theory, Professor," he said confidently and she nodded.

"There will be no special treatment for you, Mr. Malfoy. I don't favor students—even those that happen to be the sons of influential wizards. You will work as hard as everyone else and I will expect you to be caught up by Monday." She paused and set the parchment down. "I will tell you this only once, so you had better listen very closely. My classroom is a place for learning. Advanced arithmancy is extremely difficult and can be dangerous. This is not a place for conflict. If you have an inter-house rivalry or some kind of archaic dogma that prevents you from working peacefully with the others, I will not hesitate to remove you from my class—I don't know why you looked surprised. Talk of your close minded and brutish nature is as common in this staff room as tea and biscuits." As if reminded that she had tea, she took a slow, deliberate sip and smiled. "It will not be tolerated. You may go."

Draco rose to his feet, his cheeks burning. It was humiliating and he couldn't even be angry. What a little prat he had been…

. . .

The library was almost empty—most other students were in class—but sixth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs alike had been released from charms early after Neville's _accident_. It would have been hilarious had professor Flitwick not deducted twenty points from Gryffindor, but Hermione couldn't really blame him for that, especially since it had been Flitwick who needed assistance up to the hospital wing and not Neville himself. Hermione had tried to warn him that the rest of the class wasn't ready for intermediate elemental manipulation charms, but Flitwick had insisted that fifth years who had dealt with all the things they had could handle a simple fire spell…

Hermione let out a grunt of pleasure as she found the book she had been searching for. She grabbed it happily and brought it up to the counter where Madam Pince was reading the Daily Prophet. The librarian checked the book out to her, hesitantly she was sure to emphasize, and Hermione was on her way to turris magnus, the large tower that housed the advanced arithmancy classroom, the ghoul studies classroom, and the very advanced defense against the dark arts classroom.

When she entered, the last thing she expected was to find someone else within—let alone this particular someone. She scowled and slammed her book bag down.

"What do you want now, Malfoy?" She sneered. He looked up from the book he was reading and his eyes seemed to register her presence.

To her surprise, he gave a small laugh and rolled his eyes. "It hadn't occurred to me, but of course you'd be here," he said. "Advanced arithmancy…" He seemed legitimately amused and this put an end to Hermione's desire to banter with the slimy git. If he was meant to be here, there was nothing she could do and if he wasn't… Professor Vector would be sure to deal with him.

Hermione sat down and rummaged through her bag for her new quill set. Her elbow caught the corner of the library book she had just gotten and it fell to the floor with a sonorous thud. She sighed, pulled the quill box from the furthest corner of her bag and reached down to pick up her book. To her surprise and disgust, Malfoy had already picked it up and was holding it out to her patiently. She snatched it from his hands and thrust it into her bag. Wordlessly, Malfoy walked back to his own seat. This was going to be the worst term of arithmancy ever, Hermione decided bitterly. _If he's even in this class_… Even as Hermione thought it, she knew she was pathetically grasping at straws.

Obviously Malfoy's father—and Snape, damn him—had pulled some strings so that Draco could torture her without the concern of dealing with Ron and Harry. It was, after all, a well known fact that she was the only one of the Gryffindor trio that had taken a liking to the calculated science of arithmancy…

As she sat and waited, staring blankly at the front of the room, Hermione rued the day that she had chosen advanced arithmancy over Hagrid's _Maintaining Magical Monsters_ course, which both Ron and Harry would be enjoying in just a few minutes. For a moment, Hermione almost entertained the thought that perhaps it wasn't too late to switch out of arithmancy and into Hagrid's course… But thoughts of the Ministry of Magic and being an important official in some as yet unknown department soon squashed those crazy musings. Hermione would do what she always did—overcome impossible odds—and she would even manage it with an occasional smile on her face.

. . .

Professor Vector swept into the room seconds before the bell rang and Draco was relieved to have an end to the incredibly painful silence—that was, until she opened her mouth and the words surprise quiz came out.

Draco scowled as she handed out cheat proof quills and parchment. Her smug smirk told him that this was a welcoming gift specially planned for him. He had claimed to be proficient in theory and she was testing his word.

Looking down at the parchment, he found himself pleasantly surprised. There was very little that he didn't know. He finished it within a matter of minutes and waited patiently for the others to do so. He had been the first to turn over his quiz, but Hermione had followed not even seconds after and he knew her parchment would be completely full of her tiny lilting script.

When the test was over, Vector collected them and finally decided to address the elephant in the room—_him_.

"As you may have noticed, we have a new addition to our small number," Vector said slowly. "Draco Malfoy will be joining us in advanced arithmancy for the remainder of the term. That said, I must also inform you that our young prodigy, Mr. Micken, has decided to pursue other avenues of education." There were sniggers at this and Draco wondered why. "Professor Sprout has informed me that he has taken quite a liking to caring for magical plants." _Ah_, he thought with a grin. Micken had gone the way of the rest of the Hufflepuffs… "For the sake of time and convenience, partners will remain unchanged—except in the one instance, of course. Hermione Granger, you and Draco will be partners for the rest of the term." Her tone was final and she didn't even pause to take a breath before moving on. It was as if all the air had been sucked from the room. The other, older Gryffindor girl looked absolutely scandalized whereas the three Ravenclaws seemed to accept it with nonchalance. It _was_ for the sake of time and convenience, after all…

. . .

Hermione couldn't believe it. The rest of Vector's instructions were a complete loss to her and when everyone else started milling around partnering up for their discussion of the quiz answers, Hermione remained frozen in her seat. Not that it mattered. Malfoy managed to find his way to her table where he set down his things and filled _her_ space with _his_ parchment and _his _quills. She wanted to cry, to scream… to claw his eyes out. Anything to get him away from her.

It was no secret what Draco Malfoy thought of Hermione Granger. She was a disgusting, mixed blood, muggle born witch and this meant that respect, camaraderie, and even mutual apathy were impossible. No, he couldn't just leave her alone. He had to make her life a living hell every second they spent in one another's company.

"Number four is wrong." His voice interrupted her murderous fantasies and Hermione had just enough energy left to be appalled.

"_Excuse me_?" She asked, turning only slightly in his direction.

"You listed the Agrippan method as the oldest form of numerology," he said mildly. "It isn't. The Chaldean method predates the Agrippan method by almost a thousand years."

Hermione ripped her test out of his hands and read her response. He was right. She hadn't even taken into account the Chaldean method. They hadn't covered it yet.

"We haven't gotten to the Chaldean method yet."

"And yet the question asks: what is the most ancient numerological system, not: what is the most ancient numerological system you have read about," he replied.

Hermione raised her hand and she saw his eyebrow twitch upwards in amusement. Vector approached and Hermione laid out their point of contention. To her surprise, Vector sided with Malfoy.

"I very clearly remember mentioning that the Agrippan method, while the most commonly used today, is not the oldest, Miss Granger." Vector moved on and Hermione shuffled through her dozens of pages of notes until she found what she was looking for.

"Bugger," she cursed, shoving them all roughly back into her bag. She looked at him, her eyes narrowed in irritation. "Fine. Let's move on."

The rest of her test was perfect, but she found herself to be dissatisfied with that. Not only had she been wrong, but _he_ had pointed it out. What did Draco _Malfoy_ know about arithmancy? Why would Death Eaters even need an advanced knowledge of numerological divination? She sighed as she read over his parchment. It was short. It was concise. But it was perfect.

Looking at him out of the corner of her eye, she found herself in shock at the path her mind was taking. Maybe he did have a brain.

They were the first group done and Vector told them they were free to discuss anything of an arithmantic nature that they desired. The bell would ring shortly anyways. Hermione was resolved to remain silent, but something was driving her crazy.

"How do you know so much about the Chaldean method?" She asked quietly and he looked over at her in astonishment. Her question was in reference to his quiz. When asked which method of numerology was most aligned with his own worldview, he had responded the Chaldean method. She needed to know why…

"How do _you_?" He replied.

"I always read ahead." It was the simplest answer in the world, but the smile that flitted across his face was the most unexpected thing she had ever seen.

"I do too." His grey eyes looked suddenly bluer and instead of being dead and cold like they were in her nightmares they were actually… sparkling. Not unlike the way Dumbledore's did when she and her Gryffindor friends found their way into trouble he found amusing.

"Then can you answer why you prefer it to all the other methods?" She asked. It was the first time she had ever had a theoretical conversation on the subject of arithmancy with anyone. "I personally prefer the Pythagorean method… It's simple and clear cut."

"That's exactly why I _don't _like it," Malfoy replied, looking very serious. "The Pythagorean method is too logical, the Agrippan too cryptic, the Chinese and Abjad methods too spiritual… The Chaldean method is personal. It's more accurate."

"How so?"

"Well, for example, when you are doing the numbers for your character, personality, and heart you're using your entire legal name with the Pythagorean method. With the Chaldean, it's simpler than that. You use the name that people actually use—the name that is, in essence, you." He paused and began scribbling on a blank piece of parchment. "Look at the difference."

Hermione was impressed at how quickly he was done with his calculations. He handed the parchment over and she looked at it.

"According to the Pythagorean method, my character number is a nine. I am dedicated to public service and am an inspiration to others." Hermione openly guffawed and he brushed it off. "My heart number would be a three, which makes me talented, energetic, and easy going… are you getting the picture?" She refused to nod, but merely moved on to his Chaldean reading.

"It _does _seem a bit more accurate," she said slowly. "In your case anyways. Your personality number is a five, which makes you unstable and noncommittal—a bona fide wild card." She handed the parchment back and began putting her things away.

"Someday it will click," his voice said quietly as he stood to move back to his own table.

"I doubt that," she said tersely. "You practice your Chaldean and I will practice my Pythagorean."

He chuckled. "You won't always be a Pythagorean theorist, you know."

Hermione blinked, taken aback by his confident tone. "And how can you be so sure?"

"Because you taught me everything I know about arithmancy," he whispered. "And right now, you're wrong." The bell rang and he walked from the room in a whirl of black cloak. Caught between fear, confusion, and rage, Hermione stood and headed off towards transfiguration. How happy she would be to see her friends after such a long day.

"Chaldean doesn't even have a nine," she muttered under her breath.

. . .

Draco could have kicked himself. He shouldn't have said that. He _really_ shouldn't have said that… He walked straight to the dungeons. He had a free period that needed to be spent mulling over the last several days. He needed a plan or he was going to mess things up for everyone permanently. As much as he wanted to just come clean—to tell Hermione their whole messy love story—he knew it wasn't a good idea. She wouldn't believe him, Dumbledore would no doubt find out, and Draco would lose his one chance at regaining what he had lost.

"I need to be smart about it," he muttered to himself.

Winning Hermione wouldn't be easy under these circumstances. They were in separate houses and his endless torture and teasing was a fresh wound. They didn't have the distance that being out of school for three years had provided, they didn't have the shared goal of the Order of the Phoenix, and they (meaning Hermione) definitely didn't have an adult sense of their physical chemistry, which had been helpful.

It was going to be slow work, and very difficult, but as Draco sat and thought and pondered, he began to form a plot—something he had always been very adept at.

Step one would begin in the morning during double potions with Gryffindor. Their new Potions Master was still a mystery to Draco, but he had no doubt the man was no match for his deviousness. Draco needed to relearn being bad, even if it was a show.

. . .

AN: Hello everyone! Back with another chapter. It took what felt like forever, but here it is. I hope you enjoy it. The pace is a little slower, but we get to enjoy a little bit of Hermione/Draco banter. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading and thanks for all of the wonderful reviews I've gotten :D


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